the other war
by Luna Tiger
Summary: Walking metal machinations aren't Ianto's only fear. // Ianto, Jack; light Janto


**Title**: the other war  
- _Characters_: Ianto, Jack (Jack/Ianto)  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: _Walking metal machinations aren't Ianto's only fear._  
**Notes**: Relevant to know who was there in DW 2x12 and 2x13 (or not...no, not really). Takes place between TW **2x02** and **2x12**.

- b - e - g - i - n -

Any job that handles the realities above and beyond human perception, the stuff of nightmares, always leaves its employees with echoes of the terror. Nightmares were part of Torchwood's unwritten contract, something its employees had to accept would happen in a flurry of imagined teeth, claws, and suffocating exposure. Nightmares haunted them all, coming and going on bad nights and worse nights and sometimes the good nights too. At times forgotten, at times lingering like an ill shadow walking under their feet the next day, unwilling to disappear into the ether.

They were at times parodies of the previous case, monsters or situations gone one way in reality but another in fantasy: a misstep caught was a two story plummet, a near miss strike was a bull's-eye, a lucky shot became disastrous. If they weren't parodies, they were full-blown fictitious adventures that ended in death and pain and watching your lower half fly through the air while your innards spilled, and you were still alive to witness. Watch coworkers, family, lovers get torn asunder, drowned, impaled, eaten from the inside out, exploded, imploded, crucified, disemboweled, lost to the Rift and vortexes unknown. Then suffer the same.

The one-timers were marginally bearable. It was the repeating offenders that took their toll.

So run down that long white corridor lined with windows from floor to ceiling, showcasing a city that burned in red and green fires, birds boiling and melting as they flew ignorantly along. Run and crash to a sliding halt as the monster chasing you rams through the windows, blocking your path with a turret for a torso, hovering and able to get you from any angle. Lands and you freeze from your spot on the floor and maybe to think it's a dream or real, but _you can't move_ as it noiselessly approaches you, its weapon pointing between your eyes, because its killed free-range already; now it's time for sport.

And for a moment, the most beautiful silence descends between you.

"**Exterminate!**"

The bolt of green always knocked him from instant death to full consciousness with an undignified jerk. Shallow, quick breathing of fright caught in his throat as he strove deeper for air, unable to grasp it. His hand skirted the width of the bed while his eyes scanned the room: looking for the beast, searching for his gun, reaching out for the safeguard that kept the nightmares at bay. He only found his firearm stashed under the pillow, nearly caught between the mattress and headboard; no mobile assault garbage bin, no Jack.

It was to be expected. All unearthly beings were sucked back to the dimensional tear they escaped from, Cybermen and metal crock pots. And Jack was back at the Hub, (hopefully) diligently working after saying he would, and sending Ianto home for a (hopefully) proper sleep.

Ianto slowly lowered his chest back to the sheets, burying his face partially into the pillow, visible eye wide open and staring into the dim shadows, alert for the twin headlights and static voice to follow. The clock read 3.32am; Ianto had only fallen asleep around 11:30pm. There would be no more rest that night.

- t - i - m - e -

"You alright?"

Ianto turned from the coffee machine, with the correct mug up for offering, at Jack's inquiry. "No more worse for wear." He pushed the mug forward between them.

Jack took it, but forewent the initial sip and held it off to the side, no longer an acting buffer. "That's what I'm afraid of," he said, lifting his free hand to thumb the dark semi-circle under one eye. "You didn't sleep well."

It wasn't a question. Ianto lowered his eyes. "I got a few hours."

Jack exhaled with a flare of his nostrils, disappointed and understanding all in once. You can't ever wish for more than a good night. "Was it a dream, or were you waking up every hour?"

"Dream." Lying would result in administered medication he didn't need. Owen would enjoy that too much.

He nodded. "Want to talk about it?"

_Never._ "Not particularly." There were still things to do before the others arrived. Jack was up, Jack had his coffee, Jack had things to do of his own. It was necessary. He had to _work_. "If you'll excuse me."

Ianto repressed the urge to roll his eyes when the moment his back turn, a solid hand caught his shoulder. Jack was schooling his Serious, We-Don't-Let-This-Go face and it wasn't that Ianto didn't know why, but what was talking about a dream that mirrored That Day honestly going to help? In some parallel universe he was dead; in this one, he was _alive_. He didn't want to talk about it. Jack thought differently. "Perhaps I should rephrase that," he said. "Is this something that _needs_ to be talked about?"

London had a whole ward of therapists and psychologists, mandated in 1975 when an outbreak of Thrundel Morvians released their hallucinogenic gases in Suffolk (by accident, but when did Torchwood care?) and nine people in one unit committed suicide due to the sudden rush of mental stimuli after the fact. Glasgow had just one currently (who also served as their technician), but that wasn't a help for here, something Cardiff had never employed, save once between 1976 and 1980. Did he _need_ to talk about it? "We all have our skeletons and ghosts, Jack. You rarely talk about yours; am I required to talk about mine?"

Jack had the experience of seven or eight generations, ranging from across time and space. Ianto had always thought he'd been a victim of the Rift, pulled from the 51st century much like their three wayward strays from 1953. But Jack never answered when people asked, so Ianto never told when he could have. Protecting the future, possibly; encountering the past is nostalgic, but encountering the future was dangerous if you weren't in it at the time. Displaced information could be ruining, even under Torchwood guidelines.

Except now they had Time Agents which implied a lot, using Rift energy to apparently travel, the Doctor was in the equation somewhere, and Jack was still evasive about personal questions, always shrouded under metaphors or "nothing". So if Jack didn't want to be upfront about anything, why couldn't Ianto harbor the one last thing about London that would sound silly in the open? _"Why yes, I came face to face with my death moments before the Ghost Shift was reversed. A second longer, literally, and I wouldn't be here. Don't dwell on it? I'm not! I'm alive! I function fine if you haven't noticed. Whether or not other people know won't change that it happened, almost happened, and didn't happen."_

And now Jack was tightening his mouth in that "you really didn't just say that" way and perhaps Ianto could have said it better, but it was ridiculous all in all. The hand on his shoulder slipped away like water over the bow, leaving Ianto weighted even more instead of unburdened. Was it really that important?

"People have nightmares," he continued evenly. "This isn't the first and it won't be the last. They're irrelevant; I'll survive."

Jack's expression soften somewhere in the middle of his short tirade, and his lips twitched in a not-smile-not-frown manner by the end and his arms folded tightly before him. "That's almost humbling," he pointed out, bordering on passive accusing. "Given your track record of 'nightmares'--"

"If you're going to play the--"

"--I pegged you as being incapable of them."

"...Sorry?"

Jack shrugged, as through he weren't remembering every night in particular and reviewing them far too thoroughly. "You haven't had any whenever you sleep with me."

Ianto looked down at the floor, stalling for time while hiding his embarrassment. "Must be the company."

"Must be." Beat. "Ianto--"

"Come home with me tonight." Like a baby bird tumbling from its nest, the idea hit his mind and didn't stop until it hit open air. Not that Ianto found it a very good invitation, since Jack never needed one Before to follow him home and only eventually make it to bed, but if Jack's startled look meant anything, it was enough to continue. "As a precautionary. Proper sleep is important."

From the corner of his eye, he could see the wheels turning in Jack's head, waiting for the grin that would indicate the inevitable misinterpretation.

"We'll see," Jack said, with a smile far softer than Ianto had expected. "Pending end of the world and paperwork, of course." He nodded, picking his mug up and lifting it in indication, and made his way back to his office, leaving Ianto to watch his back until his routine kicked back into action.

Time-tossed immortal with a mission to save the world from every extraterrestrial threat capable of making life hellish on principle or in practice. He swaggers in to life with a gusto unseen by many, and leaves with a whip of the end of his coat. Maybe he won't leave Torchwood that way, now that he already had once and apparently returned to stay. But whatever happened brought back a Jack that wasn't _theirs_, and the change was interweaving itself with...

He's going to break their hearts, but at least Jack carried away the coffee.


End file.
